The 1200 Rules of Gun Safety, Gummer Style
by ShadoeKylie
Summary: Kylie wants to buy a gun - but first, Burt has to train her to shoot!
1. Part 1

**The Twelve-Hundred Rules of Gun Safety, Gummer-Style**  
**By Shadoe Masters**

This is Story 4 of "The Great Burt Baiting Saga." These stories center on the characters from Tremors: The Series, and feature Burt, Tyler, and all the gang from Perfection Valley. There are also original characters of my own creation - just so you're warned ahead of time. But please don't let that scare you off. I hope you enjoy them. 

While this story is a romance, the people involved are not the most cooperative people in the coupling department. The romantic elements take time to unfold. 

Feedback: Please let me know what you think of each story. I love feedback, both good and bad, and the more detailed the better. 

Disclaimer: "Tremors" is not owned by me or my affiliates, but by Stampede Entertainment, Universal Studios, and their affiliates. No copyright infringement is intended - just some good, clean (well, mostly) fun! 

E-mail: 

Thanks to my beta readers: LadyNRA, ActionBurt & the gang at work 

**The Twelve-Hundred Rules of Gun Safety, Gummer-Style**  
**Part 1**

Perfection Nevada, 6/19/2003 

"Hi, Burt!" 

Kylie's smiling greeting was friendly enough, but Burt almost turned around and left. Since their... discussion that morning during the ride back to town--after she'd completed her pointless daily run--he had tried to avoid her. He just didn't want to start the whole argument all over. The girl never listened. 

And she had the nerve to say _he_ got _her_ into trouble when they went anywhere together! 

He sighed, slid his sunglasses into his pocket, and walked up to the counter. "Where is everyone?" 

She waved a hand vaguely toward the back of the store. "They're around." She set a cup on the counter and poised the coffee pot over it while looking questioningly at him. He nodded and she poured. "They only let me do coffee--I haven't graduated to food yet, so if you're looking for lunch, you're on your own." 

The way she said it made him suspicious, but he pulled the cup toward him. "You can't cook either?" It was amazing the number of things she'd never learned to do. 

She shrugged. "Only if a can opener and microwave are involved. Even then it's kinda--" She waggled her hand in the air. "--iffy." 

He took a sip of the coffee and grimaced. 

"I can see why they don't let you cook." He pushed it away and stood. "You'll want to stick with instant on the coffee too." As he walked out, Nancy passed him at the door. 

"How rude!" Nancy said, sitting at the counter in front of Kylie. "He still mad at you?" 

Kylie nodded, slumping down to rest her chin in her hand. "Guess so." She watched Burt drive away through the front window. "How long does he usually stay mad?" 

"Depends on what you argued about." 

"World War II," Kylie said. "The American versus the European point of view." 

Nancy rolled her eyes. "World War II? The subject closest to his heart? Let me put it this way," she said. "He _might_ talk to you sometime next month." 

"That bad?" 

Nancy nodded. "I don't see why you bother to make him take you running every day. It would be easier if you just went alone." 

"He'd just follow me anyway," Kylie said, straightening. "Besides, I like Burt." 

"Why?" Nancy asked, surprised. "All you two ever do is fight." 

"That's only because I'm always baiting him," she pointed out. 

"Kylie, _why_ do you do that?" 

"Because of the fun?" Kylie shrugged. "He just makes it so... _easy_." 

"That he does," Nancy said, trying to hold back a grin. 

"And he's so cute when he goes into 'rant mode' and his face turns all red," she added with a grin. 

"Just watch it," Nancy advised. "One of these days, you're going to push him too far." She took the coffee Kylie had poured for Burt and took a sip. She winced. "What did you put _in_ this?" 

Early that evening, Burt paused at the window to make sure Jodi was at the counter instead of Kylie. Tyler's jeep was parked out front with two other cars, and tourists were milling around the store, but it looked like they were almost cleared out at last. "Should have been gone already," he muttered to himself. 

He took his usual stance, leaning against the counter, while Jodi poured him a cup of coffee. He turned to lean on the other elbow to avoid talking to Nancy, who'd just come in from the back, and caught sight of Kylie at the corner table. She wore some kind of weird getup consisting of a long multi-colored gown and some kind of scarf over her blond hair. She was sitting with a tourist and had those damned tarot cards spread all over the table. "What the hell?" he muttered. 

"She got a custom-made graboid tarot deck and now she's doing readings for the tourists. They love it." Jodi smiled at Burt's look of disgust. "And the house gets twenty percent of the take." 

"Don't knock it," Nancy said. "It's something she can _do_." 

"Without damage," Jodi added. 

Burt sipped his coffee, waiting for more, but she didn't elaborate. "At least she's not making the coffee anymore." 

"You were here for that?" Jodi asked, and he nodded. "She said it was some kind of weird European recipe." 

"Recipe for axle grease," Burt muttered. 

"Did you hear what she did at Tyler's?" 

He shook his head and looked a question at her. 

"Tyler's been mad all week." 

"That's not fair, Jodi," Nancy said. "How was she supposed to know he was keeping those for spare parts? She promised to pay for them." 

Jodi ignored her and turned to Burt. "And after what she did to his Tour jeep, Tyler said he wouldn't let her near the garage again. Even if she brings food." 

Nancy laughed in spite of herself. "Especially if she brings food." 

Jodi flashed a smile, but said, "And didn't she almost blow up your new kiln, Nancy?" 

"It was the old one, and I don't think it was permanent damage." 

"Still..." Jodi let that hang in the air ominously. 

"But didn't she help you on those investments?" Nancy asked her. 

"She did, but I don't understand her formulas. And I'm still not letting her use my computer. Not after what she did to the cash register." 

"You were able to reprogram it." 

"Still..." Jodi turned to Burt. "She's a menace. Be afraid. Be _very_ afraid." 

He looked over at the small woman in the corner, attention on the cards before her and speaking in a low voice to the customer at the table. "And she doesn't really look all that dangerous..." 

Jodi leaned close. "Trust me, Burt. Guard yourself." 

"That's not fair," Nancy said. "She just... hasn't found something she's good at yet, that's all." 

"Well she's not experimenting in my store anymore." 

Kylie walked the last customer out of the store, leaned over the counter to get her Pepsi, then scrambled up on a stool to join them. "Talking about me?" she asked. 

"How did you know?" Nancy asked. 

"The cards know all..." she replied mysteriously. 

Burt scoffed and she grinned at him. "Actually, Jodi was glaring at me again." 

"You used to _own_ a store," Jodi said. "How could you not understand a cash register?" 

Kylie shrugged. "Well... There was a clerk, and not as many buttons, and..." She gave up with another shrug. She took a sip of her Pepsi and pulled the scarf off her head. "So, what can I do tomorrow?" she asked brightly. 

Jodi and Nancy exchanged a look. 

"Didn't you want that inventory started, Jodi?" Nancy said first. 

Jodi froze in place. "Well, I didn't really need--" 

"I know," Nancy said, coming to the rescue. "You know, ever since you fell in that hole last week, you've been wanting to buy a gun. Burt, here, can take you into Bixby and help you pick one out!" 

"Yeah," Jodi agreed, smiling. "That's a _great_ idea!" 

All three women turned to Burt, expectant smiles on their faces. He looked from one to the next, but couldn't decide on a reply. Finally, he settled on Kylie and said, "Have you ever fired a gun?" 

Kylie smiled. "Well, no, but it can't be that hard. Just point, pull the trigger, and bang, right?" 

Burt just stared. He did not even know where to begin. "You shouldn't even think about buying a gun until you've learned how to fire one. And even then there's safety, maintenance--" 

"And you're just the man to teach her, Burt!" Nancy said. "When can you start?" 

Burt pushed himself away from the counter. Both Nancy and Jodi had satisfied smirks on their faces. He felt maneuvered. He looked to Kylie's smiling, hopeful face. "I can't," he said. "I have things to do. Next week's survival class to prepare for, traps to monitor, the geo-phones..." There was no telling what that woman would do with a gun in her hands. She's shoot _him_. She'd break his guns! He shook his head. "I just can't do it." 

Kylie tilted her head and stared at him with those big, blue eyes. "Who else would you suggest?" 

He pushed his hat back on his head, then resettled it. He looked to Jodi, then Nancy for help, but found none there, and looked back at Kylie's hopeful face. He sighed. "Tomorrow okay?" 

Burt showed up at Chang's at precisely 0700 hours the next morning. He looked every inch the paramilitary survivalist in his tri-color desert BDUs, combat boots, and the ever-present Hawks hat. As he'd expected, Kylie was late. He walked over to lean against the counter and considered putting some coffee on. 

He was _not_ happy about the coming lessons. As much as that girl argued with everything he said, and didn't listen to his very good advice, the day was destined to be a disaster. If Jodi and Nancy didn't even want her around, what made them think _he_ would? 

He thought about leaving. He'd told her not to be late. He looked at his watch. 0702. He'd give her ten more minutes. Or maybe three. At 0705, he'd leave. He'd be off the hook and no one could blame him. He'd told her not to be late. 

He shook his head when she suddenly burst through the door. She looked bright and cheerful, even if out of breath and thrown together from her dash across the street. 

"Ready?" he said, standing. 

She climbed on one of the stools at the counter and leaned over to take a package from behind. "All set!" she said, stuffing the package into the backpack she carried slung over one shoulder. "Thanks Jodi!" she called, as she hurried to the door. 

Burt followed her out the door, still shaking his head. She was like a tiny whirlwind. He walked over to the other side of the truck and got in. "I've set up some targets in North Fork Canyon," he said, starting the truck and pulling out. "We'll start with those." 

Kylie looked at her watch then back at him. "Set up targets? Already? Burt, it's 7:00 in the morning." 

"I've been up since 0500 hours," he pointed out. 

"So have I," she muttered. 

"And you were still late." 

The corners of her mouth turned up and she looked out her side of the truck. "I _knew_ you'd say something. Thirty seconds late and you still had to say something." 

"Three minutes," he corrected. "And I told you not to be late." 

"It was only thirty seconds," she argued. "I checked." 

"I synchronize my watch with the US Naval Observatory master atomic clock every morning," he said, glaring at her. "It was three minutes." 

She muttered something he didn't catch, so he didn't reply, but allowed himself a smug half-grin. 

"So anyway, thanks for this," Kylie said, after a short pause. 

He glanced at her. "For what?" 

"Teaching me all this gun stuff." She smiled mischievously. "And for getting me out of Nancy's hair. I think she was plotting with Jodi how to hide the body." 

"I doubt it was that bad," he said skeptically. 

"It was a joke, Burt. You need to loosen up, have fun. Smile once in a while." 

He just gave her a quelling look. 

"Okay," she said. "But just to warn you: you have now presented me with a challenge: Must Make Burt Laugh. At least once." 

His look said everything she needed to know about her chances of making that happen. 

She just put a superior smile on her face and started plotting. 

"What did you do to Tyler's Jeep?" he asked. 

She squirmed. "Well... Really, I just washed it." 

"Just washing it isn't going to make him ban you from his garage." 

She looked out the other side at the passing scenery. "It is if you take things out of the engine to wash them." 

He smirked. 

"Ah-ha! Almost had you there! That was nearly a laugh!" 

He wiped that expression from his face. "You're not supposed to take things _out_ of the engine. How much do you know about cars?" 

"Hey, 'gas and go' pretty much covers everything I know about cars." she grinned. "Hmmmm... Come to think of it, I usually have someone else around to pump the gas, so 'go-go-go' is likely about my limit." 

"Which is why I didn't let you drive back when we went to Las Vegas to get your Range Rover." 

"I thought that was because you thought my driving was--how did you put that? 'Hazardous, unsafe and virtually homicidal'." 

"And it was," he confirmed. "I've seen you drive in the Valley. In spite of my lessons, you haven't improved." 

"Might be _because_ of your lessons, you know." 

She grinned when he glared at her, letting him know she was kidding, but he wasn't mollified. "That kind of attitude is why everyone else is angry with you now." 

"Unlike yourself, who's been angry with me all along." 

He stoically refused to look at her. 

"But everybody else being mad at me is not my fault! They just keep assuming I know stuff about stuff I know nothing about. Like how am I supposed to know why Nancy wasn't using the old kiln? I just knew I wasn't supposed to use the new one she was all hyped about. I don't know stuff about kilns." 

"And how much 'stuff' do you know about guns?" 

"I know stuff about guns..." 

"Like what?" 

"Well, like..." She started ticking off a list on her fingers. "The part with the hole is the scary end. And they need gas like cars, only for guns they're called 'bullets'." 

He stopped the truck. He almost turned it around. 

She saw his expression and stopped her list on a giggle. "Okay, I'm just yanking your chain." She thought about it. "But, yeah, that pretty much covers what I know about guns." 

"But you were planning to go out and buy one!" 

She shrugged. "Criminals use them all the time, Burt, and they're stupid. How hard could it be?" She glanced at him. His face was starting to turn red. "Okay, okay, I'll stop!" she said, hands in the air. "You are sensei, I am 'grasshopper.' Impart to me your wisdom, O Great One." 

"That's better," he said shortly, and they continued on their way. 


	2. Part 2

**The Twelve-Hundred Rules of Gun Safety, Gummer-Style**  
**Part 2**

They reached the site by climbing a long twisting trail. 

"Are you sure we need to be going up a trail like this?" Kylie asked, eyeing the drop off next to the truck dubiously. 

"This is quite stable," Burt assured her. He didn't point out that he'd spent the better part of the past week checking the stability of the rock formations in the Valley. 

They passed through thick gray brush until reaching an area protected from the wind by high cliffs on two sides and the brush they'd passed through on the others. It was a site typically Burt--high and hidden from view by any chance passersby. Not that the Valley had many of those, but Burt could never be too careful. The brush and cliffs hid a clearing, with a series of targets set up near the end by the cliffs. Two folding tables were set up on the opposite side, and Burt pulled up near those. 

"Nice place," Kylie said, looking around. 

"Perfect for shooting," Burt told her. "A rock shelf covered in loose dirt and sand. Stray bullets get absorbed and minimize the threat of a ricochet." 

He got out and went to the back of his truck, removing two large, military-style, green bags from the back. He set those on the table and started pulling weapons out. There was a full range of guns, from handguns to rifles, including the big one Twitchell called "Burt's cannon." Tyler called it "Betsy." 

"Ooh," Kylie said, reaching out for Betsy. "Can I shoot this one?" 

Burt clamped a hand around her wrist before she touched the weapon. "You'll get to touch a weapon _after_ you've learned how to handle it." 

"But can I shoot that one?" 

"Negative," he said, releasing her arm when he was sure she would leave the Barrett alone. "It's here for illustration purposes only." He picked up another one, much smaller. "You'll be firing this one." 

Kylie pouted. "Why can't I shoot the big one?" 

"Because it's almost as big as you are. Besides, it would put you on your... behind" he replied shortly. 

"Oh, all right," she muttered, and started to reach for the one Burt held. 

He pulled it out of her reach and set it back on the table. "_After_ you learn some basic safety procedures." 

"This is getting less fun by the minute, Burt." She frowned. 

After the past month in her company, Burt new her well enough to catch the twinkle in her eyes. "What happened to 'grasshopper'?" he asked. 

Kylie promptly dropped to her knees on the ground, in proper 'grasshopper' posture and fell back on the line Burt liked best. "Impart to me your wisdom, O Great One." 

Burt nodded approval and went into what Kylie had come to identify as his "lecture mode." This was as opposed to his "rant mode," which was a lot more fun to watch. Though, with the proper attitude, "lecture mode" could also be fun. 

"First," he said, "we'll cover safety. Then the different types of firearms, ammunition, and maintenance. _If_ you can get through all that, we'll cover shooting a rifle, and maybe a handgun." He waited for the inevitable comment, but for once, she remained silent, settling for nodding eagerly. "There are a number of essential gun safety rules that you will need to learn." He paced in front of her while he recited his list. "The first rule of gun safety is: A gun should always be pointed in a safe direction. Point it so that if it goes off it will not damage property or personnel." He looked down at her. "That means point it away from _me_." 

She nodded earnestly. 

"Rule number two: Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot." He pulled the gun from his holster and pointed it upward, demonstrating. "Rest your finger here, on the trigger guard, or on the side of the gun." He reholstered his weapon and glared at her until she nodded again. 

"Rule number three: Assume every weapon is loaded and treat it with the respect it deserves." 

He took three paces and turned. 

She nodded enthusiastically before he could glower at her again. 

"Rule number four: If your weapon leaves your sight, assume it's been tampered with." He stopped long enough to scrutinize her fiercely again. "That means, you should immediately engage the safety, and, if the gun has a magazine, remove it before looking into the chamber, which should be clear of ammunition." 

He stopped when she started squirming and finally raised her hand. "What is it?" he snapped. 

"What's a safety? And a magazine? And... chamber?" 

He put his head in his hands. "We'll get to those. Trust me, you will not touch a gun until I'm sure you won't shoot me with it." 

She went back to nodding. 

He went back to pacing. 

"Rule number five: Know your target _and_ what is beyond. Rule number six: Maintain your weapon at all times. This includes regular inspection and cleaning." He spun on her. "Do you think you can remember those?" 

She nodded. 

"What is rule number three?" 

She frowned. "You didn't say there was going to be a test!" 

He rolled his eyes. "If you can't even remember--" 

"Assume every weapon is loaded and treat it with the respect it deserves," she recited quickly. 

"What about six?" 

"Maintain your weapon at all times." Before he could question her further, she rattled off the list for him, counting on her fingers. "Know your target and what's beyond, if you don't see it, it's been messed with, every weapon is loaded, fingers _off_ the trigger until you're shooting, point in a safe direction, and, most important, Don't Shoot Burt." She batted her eyelashes at him innocently. "Grew up in convent schools, Burt. Nuns smack you if you don't get it the first time." 

"I should try that," he muttered. 

She pretended not to hear him. 

"All right." He rocked back and forth on his heels and regarded her austerely. "Let's see if you can learn the rest as easily." 

He stood, feet apart and hands clasped behind him, indicating to Kylie he was getting seriously into Lecture Mode. She settled in to listen. This would probably take some time. 

"A 'gun'," he began, "is simply a weapon that uses the force of an explosive propellant to project a missile. Almost every gun is based on the simple concept that if you apply explosive pressure behind a projectile it will launch it down a barrel. The earliest, and simplest, application of this idea is the cannon." 

"Do I get to shoot one of those?" Kylie asked. 

"No." He started pacing again. "A cannon is essentially a metal tube with an open end and a closed end..." 

She'd been right. Burt had spent the last two hours on the history of firearms, with a smattering of safety, military procedures, physics, and several _far_ too detailed descriptions of bullet wounds. She just wanted to _shoot_ a gun, not _build_ one. Now he was just getting launched into the various styles and trends in fashionable weaponry. 

Kylie slumped. "Why do I need to know about all these, Burt? I'm only getting one gun." 

He looked at her. "Which one are you getting?" 

"I don't know," she almost whined. "You're supposed to pick it out." 

"_I_ cannot pick out _your_ gun," he said. "What is the purpose of the gun? Do you want to _only_ use it on the monsters around here? Do you want to start target shooting? Are you planning on doing any hunting with it? Do you know what caliber ammunition you want to use? Do you prefer single or double action? Which kind of grip feels best in your hand? It is very important to have the correct fit. My hands are much larger than yours--you wouldn't be able to get your tiny hands around a gun that feels perfect to me. How do you plan to carry the gun when you get it? Do you want to lock it up in a box at home? Carry it with you? What kind of holster were you thinking of? Where--" 

She held up a hand. "Okay, okay, okay! I get it." She rubbed her temple. "But you're making my head spin. How am I supposed to figure out all that in one day?" 

"You're supposed to pay attention." 

"I'm paying attention," she complained, affronted. 

"No, you're finding excuses to argue with me." 

"That's not fair, Burt," she said. "I don't have to find excuses to argue with you." 

Burt's eyes narrowed at her, but her angelic countenance convinced him he'd misinterpreted the meaning of her tone. 

"Guns are also often classified by the diameter of the barrel opening," he said, resuming the lesson. "This is known as the 'caliber' of the gun. Anything with a caliber up to and including .60 caliber--that's 0.6 inches--is known as a firearm." 

"And what are they known as after that?" Kylie wanted to know. 

"Cannons. And before you ask again, I don't have one of those. Haven't replaced it yet." 

Kylie grinned and closed her mouth. 

"It is important that you use ammunition of the proper caliber or gauge for the gun you're using. To be sure of that, you'll need to learn the different types of ammunition." He held up a bullet cartridge. "The 9mm is the minimum caliber for self-defense. The .22, .25, and .32 caliber simply cannot serve as a self-defense round here in the valley." 

"So what _are_ they for?" Kylie asked. 

Burt paused. "Targets." 

"Do you have anything that shoots those?" 

He shook his head. 

"So I should get the 9mm?" 

He shook his head again. "For here in the Valley, you'll need stronger ammunition: .357 or .45. They'll have more recoil and will probably be harder for you to shoot, but you'll learn." 

Kylie clapped her hands. "I get the big guns!" 


	3. Part 3

**The Twelve-Hundred Rules of Gun Safety, Gummer-Style**  
**Part 3**

Kylie snuck another look at her watch. Only 11:12. She was getting better; she'd gotten through almost four minutes before looking at her watch this time. Burt sure knew his guns. But he thought she needed to know everything _he_ knew about them and he was determined to cram it all in at once. It had been a long morning. 

_Finally_ he turned and picked up one of the rifles on the table beside him. Good. She thought she'd scream if he covered one more topic besides pulling a trigger on one of those suckers. 

"Now we can move on to maintenance," he said. "Regular cleaning and--" 

"_Aaaarrrrrgggghhhh!!_" She threw herself backward and lay staring at the sky. His face appeared in her line of vision. "Burt! You are driving me crazy!" She got up to face him, invading his personal space until he backed away. "I can't learn all this in one day! You're just supposed to teach me the _basics_! You've covered more in the past--" She looked at her watch "--four hours and 13-and-a-half minutes than most SWAT guys get in their whole lives!" 

"You need to understand the principles of a firearm in order to know how and when to most effectively use it!" he said emphatically, scowling at her. 

"Like making a jockey learn veterinary medicine before allowing them in the saddle?" Kylie challenged. 

"Horses don't put _holes_ in things!" Burt shot back. "You need to learn the basics before--" 

"Fine! Do I have to learn them all _today_?" He only looked stubborn. She took a deep breath and backed away. "Look, I think you're going into too much depth on this for me." He opened his mouth to protest, but Kylie held up a hand. "I'm just a beginner, Burt. I've never even had a gun in my hand. This is too much to absorb all at once. It's all one big blur already and I haven't even touched a gun yet!" She threw herself down to the ground again in defeat. "Haven't you ever heard of The Big Picture? I know you're a sucker for details but... Dammit, Burt, some of us have to start with the highlights and work our way down!" 

Burt continued to glare at her. This really was a mistake. 

"Admit it, Burt," Kyle continued, "you're stalling." 

He looked away. She was right. "Well..." He heaved a sigh and looked her up and down, considering. In weighing the benefits of giving Kylie fewer opportunities to make smartass comments against the dangers of giving her a gun, he thought he preferred the gun. "I guess you're ready to fire, then." 

She jumped up and threw her arms around Burt's shoulders. "Yay!" 

He backed uncomfortably away. "Try to maintain a little decorum, Kylie." 

She just smiled, unrepentant. 

"You'll learn maintenance _after_ you fire," he warned. "And _you_ will be cleaning the rifle." 

She nodded eagerly, still smiling. 

Then he reached for something in one of the bags under the table. Burt handed her a pair of yellow glasses and a package of earplugs like he wore. "Proper eye and ear protection," he announced. "Put them on. Keep them on." 

She quickly slipped them on, still smiling. "Eyes and ears protected, check!" she said. 

"You should wear a hat to keep flying brass out of your face, too." He gave her one of his Hawks hats to wear. 

"Now I feel like a Burt!" she said with a smile. 

Finally, he picked up a rifle from the table and held it out to her, with obvious reluctance. "The M16A1 Assault Rifle is a 5.56mm, magazine-fed, gas-operated, shoulder-fired weapon. Its maximum effective range is 800 meters. It is designed to fire either semiautomatic or a fully automatic." He paused to glare at her a moment. "You will be firing exclusively semi-auto today." 

She took the gun, but he didn't quite let it go. She debated trying a tug-of-war with him over it, but figured she'd lose. 

"Avoid at all costs the natural tendency to place your finger on the trigger when handling or moving with a firearm," he warned. "The trigger has one purpose: to fire the gun. If you are moving with your finger on the trigger and happen to stumble, fall, or run into someone, you could accidentally discharge the gun." When he was sure she held it correctly, he finally let go. 

Kylie took the gun as Burt told her to, accepting his corrections as he gave them. He started going into the features of the rifle, but Kylie was busy reviewing the information she'd already been given. When he paused to take a breath, she interrupted. "Burt, you do know this gun isn't loaded, right? I mean, I can tell, from what you showed me earlier." 

He half-grinned, smug. "I know." 

She put her free hand on her hip. "Admit it, you're not going to let me shoot at all today, are you?" 

"You'll get ammo when I'm satisfied you know _how_ to shoot," he said. 

She glared up at him. "Is that going to be today?" 

"If you'll shut up long enough to learn how to shoot." 

Kylie stared at him, affronted. "You told me to shut up. I can't believe you told me to shut up." Then she smiled and sidled up next to him. "I think you're starting to like me, Burt. Nobody ever tells me to shut up until they start to like me." 

Burt just shook his head and backed away. "The target," he said, turning her around by her shoulders, "is over there." He cleared his throat. "There are various shooting positions: standing, kneeling, prone--" 

"Sort of like the Kama Sutra of guns," Kylie commented. 

Burt stared her to silence. "We will cover the standing position today, and if you can learn that one, we'll try the rest." 

"'If'? I've been standing for years, Burt. I got it covered." 

Burt looked away. He was getting a headache. He took a deep breath and told himself he could get through this. He'd stood up to more than one herd of shriekers, after all. 

All things considered, he thought he'd rather be up against the shriekers. 

"When in the standing position, you face the target..." He waited until she turned to face the targets he'd set up. "Good. This way, you can pivot easily without having to shift your feet, should the target move." 

"As if those are going to move," she commented. 

"Pretend it's a shrieker," he said. "Your next target could be." He took her shoulders and demonstrated turning to follow the target. "Your feet should be approximately shoulder width apart." She shuffled her feet apart an inch or two. "A little further," he instructed. 

"Are we talking your shoulders or my shoulders here?" she complained, but finally had her feet in the right positions. 

"Place the butt of the stock into your right shoulder so that the sight is level with your eyes. Be sure it's good and tight. And you'll want to hold your right elbow high." 

She lifted her elbow level with the gun. "This is starting to be uncomfortable, Burt." 

"You'll get used to it. See how that makes a good pocket for the stock? You'll come to appreciate that." He adjusted her left hand a little further down the barrel. "Be sure to hold the weight of the weapon with your left hand, not your right. And hold on tight. Tuck your left elbow close to your side to keep the muzzle steady." He walked around her, inspecting her stance, then nodded approvingly. "You'll notice you can reach the safety lever with your index finger as you hold the gun." He reached over and guided her finger up to the safety lever. 

One of her long blue fingernails snagged on the lever. "Ow!" She brought down the weapon to inspect the fingernail. "Burt!" She looked at him accusingly. 

"I told you to cut those," he reminded her. 

She looked up at him through narrowed eyes. "We've gone over this before, Burt. Don't mess with the hair, or the nails." 

"We won't be going any further today until you can operate the safety," he informed her smugly. "If you can't operate that, you won't be able to handle the trigger, either." 

She sighed, flipping the rifle over and practicing with the lever. "Oh all _right_!" she said at last, and held her hand out to Burt. "Cut it off!" 

He wasted no time pulling his knife, then took her hand and cut off the plastic fingernail. He started on the next one but she snatched her hand away. 

"You only get one, Burt!" She looked down at her finger and frowned. "Now I'm going to have to have them done all over again!" She knelt down to scoop up the remnants of her fingernail and put it in her pocket. "Maybe I can glue it back on." 

Burt put the knife away and planted his hands on his hips. "Do you want to finish this or worry about your nails?" 

Kylie rolled her eyes, but put the rifle back up to her shoulder. 

"To aim the rifle, you will need to line up the front and rear sights to create a 'sight picture'." 

"We're going to paint?" Kylie muttered. 

"This," he said, pointing, "is the rear sight aperture, and here," he pointed again, "is the front sight post. Look through the rear sight and line up the front sight in the middle of it. That is your 'sight picture'." He watched her struggle for a moment. "If your sight picture is unsteady, you're not holding the rifle tight enough to your shoulder." He pressed the rifle into her shoulder a little tighter. 

"Oh! Hey, that's much better!" 

"I'm happy you like it," he said dryly. "Now you'll want to point the gun at the target." 

Kylie looked up and swiveled the gun downrange. 

"The trick to aiming the rifle is knowing what your sight picture should look like. Picture vertical and horizontal lines through the center of the rear sight aperture. The top center of the front sight post should touch these lines. Your focus should be on the front post--the rear sight should be blurry." 

"Got it," she said. 

"When you acquire the target thought the sight, those lines should also center on the target, so you'll see your target as resting on top of the front sight. Do you see it?" 

Kylie bent her head toward the sight, squinting. 

"Don't get your eye too close to the sight," Burt instructed. "Not only will you put out your eye when you fire, you'll also miss. Keep your head at a natural angle and focus on the front sight." 

Kylie straightened her neck and squinted. 

"And don't squint," Burt snapped. "Practice keeping both your eyes open while you're aiming." 

"This is getting awfully complicated, Burt," she said, becoming as grumpy as he was. 

"I thought you said it was easy," he reminded her. 

"They don't take it quite to The Burt Level in the movies," she said. 

"This isn't the movies." 

They worked at that until Burt was satisfied that she would probably hit the target without injuring herself. Finally, he took a magazine from the table and handed it to her. 

"Yay!" she said, taking it. Then she looked closer. There were no bullets inside. "I don't think this is going to work very well, Burt." 

"It will work well enough for you to practice loading and unloading the magazine," he corrected. "Remember to put the rifle on SAFE when loading and unloading--which you will check each time." 

Kylie flipped the rifle over and looked. "It's on SAFE--check." 

"Be sure the rifle is pointing in a safe direction," Burt prompted. 

She looked at him blankly a moment, then realized the rifle's direction had drifted a bit closer to him than the target. She pointed it downrange and smiled sheepishly. 

Burt nodded in approval. "Now cock the rifle by pulling back the charging handle," he pointed and Kylie wrapped her fingers around it, "and allowing it to snap back to the forward position." 

She pulled, and another fingernail snapped. "Burt! Look what your gun did!" 

He looked at the damage without pity. "Just as well," he announced. "I offered to cut them." 

It was Kylie's turn to glare. 

"With the bolt in the open position," Burt continued, a slightly smug expression on his face, "look into chamber to be sure it is clear." 

Kylie tilted the weapon and looked inside. "Clear--check!" 

"Now, insert the magazine until it catches." 

Kylie slid the magazine in until she heard a click then smiled up at him. 

"Now tap the base of the magazine to ensure the magazine is properly seated." She did and Burt nodded. "Good. Now, you must chamber a round. Press the bolt catch to allow the bolt to go forward... Good, now tap the forward assist assembly to ensure that the bolt is fully forward and locked." He watched her fumble with the rifle. "No, the other one... just there. Right. The rifle is now loaded." 

"Ooh! Locked and loaded, just like the movies!" She smiled. 

"Armed and dangerous, you mean," Burt muttered and cleared his throat. "Be sure the weapon is pointed in a safe direction," he reminded her, as the muzzle started drifting in his direction. 

"Now," he continued, "for unloading. Be sure the weapon's selector lever is on SAFE." 

"But I haven't touched it yet, Burt." 

"Get in the habit," he ground out. 

She tilted the gun. "Still on SAFE..." She tilted it back. "Oh wait, let me check again. Yup, still on SAFE." She grinned. 

He didn't. "Are you ready to continue?" 

She nodded. 

"Press the magazine catch button--no, on the other side--right, and pull the magazine out of the weapon. Good. Now pull the charging handle to the rear... correct... press the bottom of the bolt catch, and allow the bolt to ease forward. Now return the charging handle to the forward position. Always be sure to look into the chamber and receiver to ensure they contain no ammunition." He waited for her to follow the last command. "Look." 

"Burt, there are no bullets in the magazine, how could they get in there?" 

"Look anyway. Get into the habit of doing it every time." 

She looked. 

"_Now_ you can press the upper bolt catch and allow the bolt to go forward. Good. Now point the weapon at the ground and squeeze the trigger." 

The rifle gave a dull click. 

"_Now_ it's clear," he said. 

They went through the routine twice more, until Kylie could do it without being prompted. 

"Now try it with this one," he said. 

She handed him the empty magazine and reached for the new one with a sigh. Then her face brightened. "It's got bullets? _Real_ bullets?" 

He nodded. 

She slipped the magazine into the rifle as she'd done before. "Shouldn't you be strapping on a bulletproof vest right about now? And maybe a helmet and... hiding in a bunker?" 

"The thought has crossed my mind," he replied. "You are now ready to fire. May God have mercy on us all." 

"God_dess_," Kylie corrected. 

"Right now," Burt said, "I'll take all the help I can get." He sighed. "Assume the proper firing position and prepare to fire." 

She brought the gun to her shoulder, held her arms just like he'd told her, and slid her eyes over to Burt. 

"Don't look at me," he said. "Look at your sight picture." 

Kylie took aim, the barrel wavering uncertainly. 

"Hold it tight to your shoulder," he reminded her. The barrel steadied. "When you're ready, squeeze the trigger." He took a prudent step backward. 

She took a breath, let it out, and pulled the trigger. The rifle shoved into her shoulder and the muzzle popped up, but Kylie held on. "Ow!" 

"I told you to hold the rifle tight to your shoulder." 

Kylie looked over to Burt. "Did I kill it?" 

He looked at her and shook his head. "Not even close." 

She squinted downrange. "Did I even hit the target?" 

He shook his head again. "You need to hold the rifle firmly, and make sure you're focusing properly on your sight picture. But you didn't flinch, or close your eyes, as new shooters often do." 

"Point to me," Kylie said, dejected. 

"Try it again, but this time, take a breath, let it halfway out, pause, and fire. And hold the barrel firmly." 

Kylie did. She hit the target that time. She took one of the corners right off. She still looked crestfallen. 

"Hold the rifle a little higher on your shoulder," Burt suggested. "Not that high, you'll break your collarbone." She tried again. "Here..." Burt stepped behind her and pulled the rifle tight into her shoulder, then held up her elbow. "See how the rifle fits naturally into your shoulder?" 

Kylie nodded, trying to keep her position. 

Holding on to her right arm, he straightened her head a bit, then reached around her and adjusted her left hand on the barrel. "Be sure to keep a tight hold on the barrel to keep the gun from jerking as you fire." Running a hand down her arm, he pulled her left elbow snug against her hip." Make sure this arm is tight against you. That will keep your muzzle from wavering. And keep your stance." He put one booted foot between hers and spread her feet apart. 

Unsteady, she fell back against him. He got the slightest whiff of her hair. It smelled like spring... 

He staggered back, then had to reach out to hold her shoulders as she continued falling into him. He steadied her and backed hastily away. "There," he said. "You see. A proper stance is essential. Be sure to, ah, keep your head erect and the stock tight to your shoulder like I showed you, and control your breathing." 

"How come stupid criminals can do this and I can't?" 

Burt just looked at her. Oh, the temptation... 

She glared at him, _daring_ him to say what he obviously wanted to say. 

"They... get more practice," he said at last. 

The corners of her lips curled up. "Good save, Burt." 

They fired more, Burt keeping a careful distance, while pointing out an almost constant stream of mistakes to counter her almost constant stream of smartass remarks. They'd cleared three magazines and Kylie was hitting the target enough to get cocky. 

"It's empty," Burt said through clenched teeth. "Clear it." _Why_ did the girl have the hardest time just following simple instructions? 

Kylie pulled out the magazine and held it up. "Okay." 

"Clear it," Burt said, impatient. 

"I did, all the bullets are used up," she said. "It's clear." 

"No," he growled. "_Clear it._ Check the weapon for ammo." 

"Burt, what do you want me to do?" she snapped, holding the empty magazine in her hand. "I have the magazine right here. It's empty." 

Burt's anger-widened eyes met her twinkling ones a moment more before he suddenly snatched the gun out of Kylie's hands, aimed it across her at the ground near her feet, and pulled the trigger. 

The resulting shot sent Kylie backpedaling with a scream. She landed on the ground and stared up at Burt with wide, frightened eyes. 

"_Now_ it's empty," he said, angry. He stood glaring at her for just a moment more, before gently setting the rifle on the table beside him. Without a further glance toward her, he turned and walked away. 

He went to the cliff and stood surveying the valley below him for some minutes before his mind calmed enough to feel appalled at what he'd done. 

He'd almost shot her! True, he'd aimed at least a yard away. He couldn't possibly have hit her, but he'd fired a weapon at her! He'd been tempted, almost, to get closer. He'd intended to scare her. He'd meant to terrify her. He'd _wanted_ to see just that look of fear on her face. He wanted her to know this wasn't a game. He needed her to understand-- 

One part of him said he'd _had_ to do it, to convince her that guns needed to be treated with respect. He didn't accept that. He only proved that he could ignore all the rules he'd just spent the morning trying to teach her. 

He'd owe her an apology--and more. His behavior had been inexcusable. How could he have done such a thing? He didn't even know how he would be able to face her again. 

He sat and threw pebbles off the cliff for a long time. 

He heard her approach behind him. He should have turned, but couldn't make himself. Finally she approached him where he sat overlooking the cliff. She didn't say anything at first, giving him time to gather his courage. 

"Burt..." 

"Kylie..." They spoke together. 

"No," she said, "let me say this." She knelt beside him. 

He glanced at her then looked away. He deserved whatever she had to say. 

"Burt... I'm sorry." 

Her whirled to her. "You? But I--" 

She held up a hand. "I know, I know. But I... I seem to have that effect on people. It's my fault. My fault entirely. I owe you an apology for the entire morning, I know it, and you know it. I just... Sometimes, I just can't help myself. Life is so much easier when you just don't take it too seriously." She looked down at her hands in her lap. "I know that's not much of an excuse... I... I guess I fall into bad habits sometimes." She looked up at him, earnest now. "I cleared the gun. I promise. I checked it just like you told me." She gave him a brief smile and took a deep breath. "And I'll prove it to you if you'll just come back and teach me what I need to know. I'll do everything you say and I'll take it all seriously, if you'll just please come back." She leaned forward to put a hand on his arm. "I promise I will." 

He looked into her eyes. It was the first time he'd ever had a sincere promise from her, he thought. Still, after the morning, he wasn't ready to trust her completely. "Why do you even want a gun? Some kind of... fashion statement?" Burt asked with contempt. 

"Okay... I deserve that..." She sat back on her heels and thought a moment, really thought about it. "Haven't you ever been afraid, Burt?" 

He looked away. "You afraid?" he asked at last. 

"Every day for more than six months," she replied. "Have you got any idea what that's like?" 

He took a deep breath. He knew. All too well. "Being prepared is the only cure to being afraid," he pronounced. 

She nodded, walking closer on her knees, to lay a hand on his arm again. "I want to be prepared." 

He turned to her, his eyes probing hers. "Prepared for what?" 

It was her turn to look away. "For the next time some big scary monster flips my Rover, or some hairy octopus grabs my leg in a hole, or I fall off a cliff... and you're not there to rescue me." She looked back up at him. "Please give me another chance?" she said. "I'll be good." 

He looked away but finally nodded, reluctantly. It was the least he could do after his own behavior. 

She smiled, clutching his arm. 

He turned to her. "But if I see even one example--" 

"You won't, I promise!" She was almost bouncing on her knees now. 

He stood and held out a hand to her, shaking his head at his own folly. He knew he'd somehow regret this. 

Later, Burt thought the training was going well. Much better than the morning. He paced back and forth behind Kylie, checking her stance. "Remember to have a good, steady position with your feet shoulder-width apart. Make sure the stock is tight against your shoulder and the sight is level with your eyes. Your elbow should be high enough to form a good pocket for the stock and most of the weapon's weight should be on your left hand. Make sure your--" 

"I'm doing all that! Now will you just shut up Burt, and just show me what I'm doing wrong here?" Kylie said. 

Burt stepped away and looked at her, eyebrows raised. "'Shut up'?" he repeated. "You're telling _me_ to shut up?" 

She grinned. "Yes, and it means that I like you too. Now can you just show me this very serious gun stuff so I can at least put one hole in that piece of paper over there before I give up completely?" 

He stepped over to her and pulled the rifle snugly into her shoulder. "You're hitting the target just fine. You have a hard time keeping this elbow up." He suited action to words and pulled her right elbow up an extra inch or two. "And you don't hold the muzzle tightly enough, which is why you're hitting high." 

"So I should aim lower?" 

"No," he said. "You should hold on to the gun. Now try it again and remember your breathing." 

She fired and this time the hole appeared at the outermost edge of the center circle. 

"Oh _yeah_!" she cried, pumping a fist in the air. He almost smiled. "So am I ready to buy a gun now?" she asked. 

"No," he replied shortly. 

"But, you said I'm getting good at this." 

"No, I said you were hitting the target," he corrected. "You still need more practice." 

"'More practice'? Just how good do I have to be?" 

He looked off beyond the targets he'd set up, to some cactus struggling for ground space on the cliff. "You need to be able to shoot the flower off that cactus over there." 

Kylie squinted in the direction he was looking. "What flower?" She squinted again. "What _cactus_?" 

He stepped up behind her and pointed while she sighted down his arm. 

Her eyes widened. "That's at least 100 feet away! No way! That's not even possible. I bet _you_ couldn't even hit that!" 

He reached down and took the rifle, brought it to his shoulder and fired, all in one smooth movement. 

Kylie picked up the binoculars from the table and looked. The flower was gone, save for one ragged petal on the tip of the stem. Her eyes slid to him behind the binoculars. 

"Any questions?" he asked, brows raised. 

She put down the binoculars. He offered her the rifle again. Silently, an indignant frown on her face, she took the rifle and aimed again at her closer target. "Show off," she muttered. 

Behind her back, Burt smiled. "Why don't we take a break for lunch?" he suggested. 


	4. Part 4

**The Twelve-Hundred Rules of Gun Safety, Gummer-Style**  
**Part 4**

After Kylie stopped at the truck for her backpack, Burt led them through the brush to the cliff he'd been sitting at earlier. She hadn't noticed the view before. "Wow! This is beautiful," she said. "Burt, you know the best places!" 

He gave her that smug half grin of his and sat down. "Yes, I do." 

She grinned and sat beside him, digging in her pack. 

He set a bottled water and an MRE next to her. 

"I've got something better," Kylie said, pulling two thick plastic-wrapped sandwiches out of her backpack. 

He eyed them suspiciously. 

"It's okay," she said. "Nancy made them." She held each up in turn. "Do you want spicy, or extra spicy?" 

Burt reached for the extra spicy one. 

"You struck me as an extra-spicy man," Kylie said with her ever-present smile. 

Burt opened the bag and started to take a bite, but Kylie stopped him. "Wait! You forgot--Nancy's a vegan." 

While she dug around in her backpack some more, Burt opened the sandwich. Sure enough, there was cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes, but no meat. He shook his head in disgust. "It's like a salad with bread." 

Kylie grinned. "Here," she said, pulling the package she got from Chang's out with a flourish, and opening it. It held a stack of sliced ham. He took half the stack and put it on the sandwich. "Sorry," she said, sliding the rest on her own sandwich, "but I'm a carnivore from way back." 

He grinned in acknowledgement. 

They shared a companionable silence for a few moments while they ate, until Kylie gave in to curiosity. 

"So, Burt," she said, "how'd you get into the graboid business?" 

He drank from his bottled water, then looked out over the desert. "I was in the Valley when the first ones came thirteen years ago," he said. "We got four here--no choice but to get rid of them ourselves." 

"So not the blasé attitude toward them we have today, huh?" she prompted with a smile. 

He shook his head. "One broke into my damn rec room. Nearly sucked me in just like happened to you. Heather shot its tentacle right off." 

She cocked her head to one side. "Heather?" 

"My wife." Uncomfortable, he took another swig from the bottle. "Ex-wife," he corrected. 

"Ah," she said and looked away. She didn't like the gloomy note that crept into his voice. "You have just the one?" 

He turned back to her. "The one what?" 

"Ex." 

"Yes, just the one," he said, shaking his head. 

"So what happened with the graboid?" 

"Got him with my elephant gun," he said with a grin. "4-bore Double Elephant Rifle. Single shot, 30 inch barrel, 18 pounds. It fired a round lead ball almost an inch diameter, 1,400 grains." 

"I'm suitably impressed," Kylie said, her lips curving up. "You must have been having a great time with that one." 

He nodded. 

"Guess you lost that in the AssBlaster attack?" 

"Unfortunate, but true," he said. "Why did you really come to Perfection?" he asked, changing the subject. "And don't tell me you wanted to visit Nancy," he added as soon as she opened her mouth. 

"Had some trouble in LA," she admitted, "so Paul--that's my priest--decided I needed to be exiled until the heat died down." 

His eyes narrowed. "Heat? What kind of heat?" 

She grinned. "I'm not hiding out from the law, if that's what you're thinking." 

He looked away. He'd wondered. 

"Actually, it was just ex-boyfriend trouble." 

Burt nodded as if he understood. 

"It wasn't my fault," she said, correctly interpreting his look. "He got all weird on me so I dumped the guy, and he didn't take it well. Started doing the whole puppy gig, calling all the time, whining. When I finally got a clue through to him, my store was on fire and everything was crispy but me." 

"Don't do that," Burt said quietly. 

"Do what?" she asked, not looking at him. 

"Every time you get to something serious, you start talking like that. Like a... like a dumb blond." 

She grinned wryly. "Defense mechanism." She took a sip of her water and looked back up at him. "I was living in the apartment in the back of the store when it caught fire. It was the middle of the night, the alarms started going off. I had no idea what was going on until the smoke started pouring in. By then, of course, it was too late. I barely got out." She looked down at her lap again. "Lost my cat. He always liked to sleep in the store." 

"Sorry to hear that," Burt said quietly. 

She nodded. 

"This ex-boyfriend responsible?" 

"Yeah, but the cops didn't get him," Kylie said. "He had an alibi. Five of his best buddies swore he was at a party with them when the fire started. But he made sure I knew he did it." 

"Sounds like a great guy." 

"Oh yeah," she said with a smile. "I can sure pick 'em. My one talent." 

"And that's why you had the panic attack the night you got here," Burt said after a moment. 

"Good call," Kylie admitted with a sigh. "Everything was so messed up for so long, and I never did really _deal_ with any of it, so when El Blanco attacked, I guess it all kinda... spewed out at once." 

Burt nodded. "I noticed you haven't reacted that way since then." 

"I would, you know," said Kylie, "but with as many little incidents we have around here, I just don't have the time." She visibly put it all out of her mind. "So anyway, here I am, hiding out until he finds another victim or something." 

"In exile," he agreed. 

"Well, as exiles go, this isn't half bad. Look at all the fun we're having." 

"Of course." 

She smiled. "It could be worse. If I'd stayed in LA, I'd be back working Acquisitions at REI." 

"REI?" 

"R&E International. A horrible corporation that takes little businesses and makes them non-businesses. My father thinks if he just exposes me to enough strategic management I'll be as addicted to big business as he is." 

Burt snorted. 

Kylie looked affronted. "Don't laugh. I'm actually pretty good at it. I'm a rottweiler in the board room." 

Burt just gave her another disbelieving stare. 

"No, it's true. I haven't always been a dumb blond, you know." She grinned to let Burt know she hadn't taken his comment to heart. "I've actually had a very good education and was started on not a half-bad career when I decided to drop out, become a Pagan, and open my store. Problem is, business is boring, but I'm not suited for much of anything else." 

"Why is that?" That's a question Burt had been wondering since he met Kylie. 

She sighed. "I had a 'classical education'. That means, basically, that I'm 'amazingly well read' for an American, but I have no actual skills whatsoever. I can discuss literature, mathematics, sciences, world history, and art, but have no clue when it comes to cooking, fixing things, or any other useful ability. Of course, it was nice when I got to college because I tested out of almost all my undergrad classes. Except American History, of course." 

"American History?" Burt said, frowning. "How could that be a problem?" 

She shrugged. "For some reason, European schools don't see American history as an important course." Then she grinned. "It was funny to see history from an American point of view. I kept arguing with my instructors." 

"You still do," Burt pointed out. 

She shrugged. "Can't argue with that, can I?" Then she grinned. "At least none of the others ever tried to shoot me." 

Burt looked away, embarrassed. "About that... I shouldn't have--" 

"No, no, you should have," Kylie assured him. "Trust me. Nothing else would have worked. I'm a royal pain in the ass when I get in one of my moods." She took another swig from the bottle at her side. 

"It was probably from being raised in a convent. All those rules, you know," she said, when the silence had stretched out too long. 

"Raised in a convent? I find that hard to believe," Burt replied. "I thought you were one of those... new age wackos." 

"That would be 'neo-pagan'," she said dryly. "I was raised in a convent. I just never really bought in on the dogma." She pushed her hair back off her face. "I think my parents decided they'd had enough of me when I was seven. I guess I was annoying even then." She grinned. "They sent me to this convent boarding school in the Swiss Alps. I was there seven years, not counting school holidays and time off for good behavior." 

Burt frowned. "I'm sorry to hear that." 

"No, no, it wasn't like that at all. It was a great place. We had fun. Little heavy on the dogma, but you have to expect that with nuns. We were like a big family. The nuns were all like little frustrated mothers and we kids were all the children they never got to have. It was like having twenty moms and thirty sisters. Made the world look a little odd when I came home, though." She drank the last of her bottled water. "I came home when I was fourteen, annoyed the parents, so they found another convent, this time in the Italian Alps. Stayed there until I was seventeen. That's where the 'classical education' came in." She paused to take two apples out of her backpack and offer him one. "You know, I never realized how totally _useless_ I was until I came to Perfection." 

"Useless?" 

"I'm sure you've noticed, Burt," she said. "Everyone else here has something to _do_. Jodi has the store, Nancy's always puttering around in her studio, Tyler has the Tour and he fixes everybody's stuff, even Rosalita has the ranch to deal with. And you are always off working miracles in the Valley. And what do I do? I mess up everybody else's stuff because I don't know _how_ to do anything. It's sad, really. I can converse with anyone on almost any topic, I can speak four languages fluently--five, if you count Latin--I can walk into a room and smile and have every man in the room fall all over himself to do anything for me. I can make just about anyone like me, no matter what I do to them." She paused to give Burt a smile. "Probably why _you_ put up with me." She turned to look out over the desert again. "But I cannot cook a steak that is not _black_ on both sides and _raw_ in the middle. Even grilled cheese is beyond me, and my egg salad experiment is notorious in LA. I cannot figure out how to work a cash register if I have to do more than open and close it. I can't figure out how to get the gas pump to keep pumping when I walk away. I'm not fit to do anything but adorn some rich man's arm or make corporate employees hate me. In my whole life, I have not learned one useful skill. Not _one_." 

"Sounds like you just need a better education," Burt said, when she paused to bite into her apple. 

She smiled. "Actually, I got into more practical matters when I came back to the States and went to UCLA." 

"What did you major in there?" 

"Business, of course," she said, a grin on her face. "Officially, anyway." 

"And, unofficially?" 

"Partying, mostly..." 

His eyebrows rose. 

She giggled at his look. "Well, what could you expect? All those stories about Catholic school girls are true. I didn't even see a boy while I was a teenager and suddenly there was a whole world of them! I took what was offered." 

"Doesn't sound like you enjoyed it," Burt said stubbornly. 

She shrugged but smiled. "Some of it I did. But, my father got a look at the grades he was paying for and started looking for another convent." 

"He find one?" 

"Fortunately, no. What he did find, was a permanent bodyguard-slash-watchdog. With Daffyd around I couldn't have any fun. But believe me, I did try." She grinned. "I could have used some of your lessons back then." 

"I wouldn't have taught you. Sounds like you were a brat." 

She laughed. "I was." She took a bite of her apple and watched him. "So what is it _you_ do all day, Burt?" she asked. 

"Why?" He looked at her suspiciously. 

"I'm compiling a top secret government dossier on you, of course," she said quite seriously. 

He just stared at her. 

She giggled and pushed at his shoulder. "Nancy's convinced you do nothing all day but run around killing anything that moves. Seems to me you'd get bored with that after a while." 

"And run out of targets," he pointed out with that half grin of his. 

"That too." She waited, but he didn't reply to her original question. "So? What do you _do_?" 

He looked out over the landscape. "Someone's got to protect the Valley. Perfection's a dangerous place." 

"Don't I know it!" She followed his gaze and tried to stifle a laugh. 

"What's so funny?" 

She looked back and found him watching her, suspicious as always. She rolled over on her stomach to face him. "I was just thinking of when I got here. That first night. I thought you were a knight in shining armor who guarded the Valley and rescued damsels in distress. And so you are!" 

"Hardly a... a knight." He looked away again. 

She grinned. "But definitely rescuing damsels in distress." 

He shrugged it off, uncomfortable with the reminder. "No big deal." 

"Kind of a big deal to the people you rescue, Burt." She smiled at his discomfiture and changed the subject. "So what does protecting the Valley involve?" she persisted. 

"You wouldn't be interested." 

"If I wasn't interested, I wouldn't ask," she replied. 

"I've got lots of things to do. The geo-phones have to be checked regularly. The wrist-seismos depend on them." 

"Those boxy-looking things with the solar panels that keep tripping me when I run?" she asked. 

"Yes, those." 

"That's not all..." 

"No," he said, reluctantly. "I have patrols. There's no telling what kind of surprises this Valley can come up with while Mixmaster is present." 

"So you just drive around all day?" 

"I've got projects..." 

"Of your own design, of course." 

"Usually." 

"So who does all this while you're on vacation?" 

He frowned at her. "I don't go on vacations." 

She put a mock horrified look on her face. "No vacations? How can you bear it?" 

"This is what I do," he said emphatically. 

She nodded. "Of course. You get into this stuff. For you, this is all one big vacation, right?" 

"People's lives are at stake. It's important." 

"So are you, Burt," she said, getting to her feet. "And if you don't take a break once in a while, you'll give yourself a heart attack and die. And then who'll protect the Valley?" She turned and left, back to their staging area. 

Burt stared after her, astonished. She sounded angry. He didn't know why. He grimaced wryly. He thought they'd been getting along for a change. 

Kylie picked up the M-16 she'd been firing and pondered it absently. She finally understood why Nancy was always trying to "improve" Burt. He'd work himself to death if left to it. And nobody helped him. Nobody. Well... Tyler did, a little. But Tyler had his own business to run and, well, a _life_. Burt did everything alone. It wasn't fair. He deserved better. He deserved... Something better than the deal he had, that was for sure. 

She thought back to the first tarot reading she'd done on him. He didn't know about that one. The Hermit came up. She never liked when that one showed up. And then it showed up again when she the reading he knew about, and almost every time after that. She knew he was an "antisocial, paramilitary paranoid"--emphasis on antisocial--but he needed _some_ kind of interaction with people. The guns just weren't that great with the conversation. 

She sighed. Looking over the last week or so, she figured if he hadn't been taking her out to her run, there would be days on end when he wouldn't have said a word to another living soul. If he continued on the way he was, he'd just get more and more cut off from the rest of the world. 

She doubted he'd change. She put the gun down and sank to the ground. 

As much as she baited him, she liked Burt. He was smart and dedicated and about the bravest man she'd ever met. And so passionate about so many things. 

And no one to enjoy all that passion but himself. 

Maybe Nancy was right. Burt needed improving. 

No, she thought. Burt was fine the way he was. Maybe... he just needed... more opportunities. Maybe just someone to kick him in the pants once in a while. She smiled at that image. 

She looked up when he approached and set the backpack she'd left behind on the table. 

"Ready for more practice?" he asked, maybe just a shade too heartily. 

She smiled. "If you can take it, so can I." 

Once Burt felt Kylie had enough firing for the day, Burt started on the promised maintenance and cleaning portion. He set the last piece of the disassembled M-16 on the table in front of Kylie. "Now your turn," he said. "Put it back together." 

"Me?" 

"Yes, you. I've shown you how to take it apart twice now. All you have to do is put it back together." 

She looked at the parts dubiously. "_I_ was always taught we're supposed to put things back the way we find them." 

He gave her That Look again. 

She started fiddling with the parts, picking up one after another then setting it back down. "Do I win a prize if I have extra parts when I'm done?" 

He frowned. "May I remind you that you promised you'd take this seriously? 

She smiled at him, trying to tease the frown off his face. "I _am_ taking it seriously." 

His eyebrows rose skeptically. 

"I just have to make a wisecrack every now and then to get it out of my system." His chin went up so he could look down his nose at her. "You wouldn't want me to explode, would you?" He continued staring wordlessly. "_I_ wouldn't be around to help you clean up the mess!" 

He shook his head. "I think you _would_ explode." 

"Most likely," she replied complacently. "Why don't we settle on an acceptable rate, say, one free wisecrack every half hour." 

"I don't think so." 

"Okay, how about one every fifteen minutes?" 

"Kylie..." 

"All right, all right! One ever hour, but that's my final offer!" That one teased one of Burt's rare half-smiles from him, and with that, Kylie was satisfied. "Anyway, since this hour's wisecrack is already used up, you went too fast." She looked back at the parts laid out on the table. "I have no idea what to do with these pieces." 

"You should have been paying attention, then, instead of planning your next wisecrack." 

She gave him a look of exaggerated shock. "I _was_ paying attention. You just went too fast for me. You may have done this all your life, and it's all reflex, but I'm new at this. First day on the gun range, remember?" He set both hands on the table and stared at her expectantly. "Really, Burt. This is Kylie. The one who disassembled Tyler's engine? You're straying dangerously into the realm of Mysterious Manly Mechanical Things, and I'm... well, kinda lost." 

"I'll show you again," he said, starting to gather up the parts. 

"No," she said, a hand on his arm. "Just come over here and show me which part goes where. I think if I do it once, I'll remember." 

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. 

"Okay, maybe two or three times." 

"At least," he said, but he came around the table to stand next to her. 

She spread her hands over the parts. "Okay... which one's first?" 

"That one," he said, tapping a long spring. 

She picked it up and scanned the remaining parts. He started to point to something else, but she stopped him. "I think I've got that one..." Her hand darted out to pick up the buffer, and Burt nodded approvingly. She put the spring on the buffer then scanned the rest of the pieces. "Okay, so this goes in one of the big thingamajigs, right?" 

Burt rubbed the bridge of his nose. "This is going to take some time..." 


	5. Part 5

**The Twelve-Hundred Rules of Gun Safety, Gummer-Style**  
**Part 5**

He pulled his Desert Eagle. "Hold out your hand." 

"Ooh! I get to play with _your_ gun?" She looked up at him and smiled sheepishly. "I didn't actually mean to..." 

Burt just sighed and looked heavenward. 

"Okay, never mind." She held out her hand, palm up, for the gun. 

"Not like that," he informed her. He took her hand and twisted it to the side. "Like you're going to hold the gun." 

She giggled. "Oh." 

He slapped the gun into her hand and Kylie wrapped her fingers around the grip. "A handgun needs to be snug against your palm," he explained. "This finger, however," he peeled Kylie's index finger off the grip, "should be on the trigger guard. You only want to hold the gun with the last two fingers. This one," he indicated her middle finger, "should only be resting on the grip, rather than holding it." 

"Ah," she said. "So you can flip 'em off while you're shooting at them?" 

Burt looked at his watch. 

"Oh sorry, am I early?" she said with a grin. 

"Yes, you are." 

She sobered. "Sorry," she said, "please go on." But there was a definite twinkle in her eyes. 

"You will also want to keep your thumb from gripping too tightly." 

She looked down at the gun in her hand and wiggled her thumb. "How am I supposed to hold it then?" 

He positioned her thumb properly at the top of the grip. "Positioning the thumb here will keep you from instinctively pushing the gun off target. And in a two-hand grip, you'll avoid losing a piece of your thumb when the slide moves back." 

"Personal experience?" she asked. 

He nodded, a wry twist to his lips. 

"I'll keep that in mind." 

"You can aim a handgun much like a rifle. There is usually a sight, though some only have front sights and they're not like the M-16's. I'll show you some of the more accurate stances later and you can work on your aim. First, though, I want you to practice just pulling and shooting it." He rummaged around in another bag he'd brought and pulled out a holster. "You'll have to get your own, of course, but this will do for now." 

Kylie set the gun carefully on the table--Burt would probably shoot her for real if she scratched the one he carried with him every day--and took the holster. It was nylon and had obviously been stored for some time, since it was wrinkled and only reluctantly unfolded for her. It had straps and more straps everywhere. She turned it this way and that, trying to make sense of what it was eventually supposed to be. "This is like some weird bondage gear, Burt. Help me figure this out." When he didn't immediately help, she paused and looked up at him. He looked slightly annoyed. Which was actually an improvement over most of the day. "What?" she said. 

"Do you have to turn _everything_ into a sexual innuendo?" 

She grinned, going back to the straps and buckles. "Only about thirty-two percent, usually, but you keep handing me all the straight lines." She discovered a strap that looked likely and pulled it straight. "Ah-ha!" When she held it up, the majority of the straps still dangled. "That can't be right." 

"That's the leg strap," Burt said, taking it from her. He quickly pulled the strap taut and straightened the holster. "I never liked this holster, probably why I haven't used it." He adjusted it slightly, and held it out to her. "This part goes around your waist." 

"Not _my_ waist," Kylie said indignantly, looking from the length of it then down at her hips. "Have I gained weight?" She looked back up at Burt. "That's too big, Burt. No way do I look that fat." She looked down at herself. "Do I?" 

Exasperated, he bent down and wrapped it around her hips. Only when he snapped it closed did he realize what he'd done. "Of course, you'll need to buy a holster of your own when you purchase your gun. It's not always easy to find the right holster that really _fits_ a particular gun, and women, especially, have difficulty finding a proper--" 

"I'm not that fat, Burt," Kylie protested, breaking in on his long-winded explanation. She pulled the strap away from her waist. "See? Too big!" When she let it go, it fell to her ankles. "See?" she said with a smug grin. She pulled it back up around her hips and held it there. 

"You can adjust it so it's tighter," he said, reaching toward the holster. He stopped himself. "Right, uh, there," he finished, pointing. 

"Oh, well, that's all right then." Kylie busied herself with the holster while Burt talked about the different types of holsters. She got it as tight as it would go and even figured out the lower straps were to go around her leg without Burt's assistance. "Okay, all ready," she said, interrupting Burt's flow of information. 

Burt handed her the gun again. "Put in the holster and take it out a few times. Make sure it doesn't catch on anything." Kylie did, but then she started trying to mimic the movie fast draws. "I think we've established a comfortable draw," Burt said dryly. 

Kylie smiled and crossed her hands in front of herself. 

"You'll want to chamber a round," Burt told her. 

Kylie looked at him blankly. 

Burt shook his head but mimed holding the Desert Eagle and pulling back the slide. "Like in the movies." 

"Oh!" Kylie said, and did as he told her. "You know, Burt, I think I'm corrupting you." 

Burt paused to look at her. "Yes, I think you are," he replied wryly. "If we can continue... What you want to do is pull the gun, swivel toward the target, and aim, all in one movement." 

"And after all that's happened today, you think I'm capable of that?" Kylie asked sarcastically. 

"Actually, yes," Burt answered frankly. 

"Whoa," Kylie said. "I must be doing better than I thought." 

"No," Burt corrected, "it's just easier than you think." He went to stand behind her. "Turn just a little bit due south," he instructed. 

"And south would be...?" 

"Left," he supplied. "Now, raise your hand, straight up, and point at the target." Her hand moved up and wavered a bit until it settled in the general direction of the target. "No, focus at the target, not your arm. Just look downrange and raise your arm until your hand breaks the line of sight." She tried again. "Better. Now try it again, keeping your elbow and wrist locked." 

Kylie practiced this until Burt was satisfied that she was focused on the target. "Okay, this is easy..." Kylie said hesitantly. "What's the catch?" 

"The catch is, now you have to do it with the gun. The same principle is involved, but now you have to pull the gun and aim it instead of your finger." 

"And... I'm betting that's not going to work as well..." Sure enough, her arm wobbled and even Kylie could tell it wasn't pointing at the target. 

"Now you feel off-balance, correct?" Burt asked. 

"Yeah, that's right," Kylie said. 

Burt nodded. "You should. Now you have to learn to counterbalance yourself for the added weight of the gun. You need to lean back just slightly--make sure to keep your center of gravity over your feet." 

Kylie did as Burt said and the wobbling lessened but didn't disappear completely. 

"You're fighting it, Kylie," Burt told her. "Just lift the gun, like your arm..." He stood behind her and took her wrist, letting her lift the gun, but guiding her arm toward the target. "Just like that. Try it again." 

She reholstered the gun, then pulled it out, Burt guiding her arm. "Remember to compensate for the weight." He took her shoulder and eased her back just slightly. Twice more they went through the routine until when they had the gun aimed at the target, Burt said softly, "Fire." 

Kylie pulled the trigger and a hole appeared in the target near enough to the center to even impress Burt. 

"I did it!" Kylie cried. She turned her head and looked up at Burt, smiling 

Burt smiled down at her, then realized their faces only inches apart. His smile dimmed. He felt the strangest urge to close the distance between them. He'd actually lowered his face toward hers a bit when she leaned back against him and cocked her head to the side, a puzzled frown dimming her smile. 

"What is it?" she asked. 

Burt shook his head, backing hastily away. "Nothing, nothing. I just... never thought you'd do it when we started today." 

"I see," she said, an impish grin on her face. "You're just mad because I proved you wrong!" 

She started giggling and Burt let her, disturbed at what he'd almost done. "You still need more practice," he said, busying himself with the remaining guns on the table. 

"But you'll pick out a gun for me now?" 

"_You'll_ have to pick it out." 

"Yeah, but you're the expert. I could use a little help there. A _lot_ of help, actually." 

He nodded. "I'll take you into Bixby next week." 

"_Early_ next week?" she persisted. 

"Early next week," he agreed. 

She jumped at him again and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He suffered it for a wonderful moment before backing away. "Would you at least put the gun down before you start doing that?" he complained, taking the Desert Eagle away from her. When she looked like she planned to embrace him again, he turned away to check and reload the gun, then busied himself gathering the rest of the weapons from the table. 

"So why have so _many_ guns?" Kylie asked. "Can't you settle on a favorite?" 

Burt turned and gave her That Look again. "Different guns have different purposes," he said at last. "We covered that." 

"Like what?" She could see Burt was about to give her that stupid look again. "I _mean_, why use, for instance, _that_ rifle instead of _that_ handgun?" 

Burt nodded. "A rifle is better at distance shooting. You see, the inside of the barrel has a spiral groove cut into it, which causes the bullet to spin as it exits the gun, which gives the bullet better stability as it travels through the air, increasing accuracy. A rifle's longer barrel further improves stability, since it spins the bullet for longer. Extending the barrel also increases the speed of the bullet, since the gas pressure accelerates the bullet for a longer period of time." 

"Oh! So that's why guys like bigger guns! And all along I thought they were just trying to prove how big their--" 

Burt's eyebrows rose questioningly. 

"Well, I thought... they were compensating for something," she explained with a twinkle in her eyes. 

Burt stared at her a moment, puzzled, before comprehension dawned. "Hardly," he said dryly. 

Kylie's eyes dipped automatically for one brief moment. "Good to know," she said, grinning. 

Burt gave her That Look. 

She shrugged. "Sorry. Habit." 

Burt turned away, uncomfortable the conversation. He picked up a rifle and put it in the bag he'd set on the table. 

"So, my question is," Kylie said, "do you really _need_ that much firepower?" 

Burt turned to frown at her. "Now you're sounding like Nancy. These anti-gun people seem to think that all guns will eventually be used to harm the populace. That's no more valid than saying a car or a knife or a _fork_ will eventually be used to harm the populace. I don't understand why you people have no wish to be able to defend yourselves based solely on the preposterous idea that a gun might someday be used to harm a person." 

While he continued in this vein, Kylie just crossed her arms and smiled, letting him talk. She loved it when Burt went into Rant Mode. He was so cute. "Burt, are we not here today because I want to _buy_ a gun?" she said at last, interrupting him. "Doesn't that preclude me from being an anti-gun fanatic?" 

"I am simply saying that the only way to be safe is to ensure that safety yourself. You--" 

Kylie cut him off again, with a grin this time. "Yes, yes, yes... and I'm in complete agreement with you--strange as that must seem. I'm _just asking_ what you need that much firepower _for_." 

He looked at her, slightly puzzled. "Well... Nancy's always going off on one of her anti-gun rants..." 

"Yes, she does tend to go on," Kylie said dryly. "I have a lot in common with Nancy, but I spend a little more time in the real world than she does." 

"_Anyone_ spends more time in the real world than that woman," Burt grumbled. 

Kylie grinned in agreement. 

That almost got a smile out of him. 

"Okay, now that we've agreed on two different subjects in the space of less than a minute--one for the record books, I might add--tell me why you need, for instance, Betsy." 

Burt was puzzled again. "'Betsy'?" 

She nodded toward the table. "That one." 

Burt followed the direction of her gaze. His Barrett .50 caliber. "Excellent for fighting graboids," Burt explained. "Maximum penetration, precision firing." 

"So did you bring any bullets for it?" Kylie asked eagerly. 

"You are _not_ firing that one," Burt said emphatically. 

"I _know_," Kylie said with a scowl. "I just wanted to see it in action. I've been known to watch, you know." She looked at him with the expression he'd come to associate with something that had a double meaning he didn't quite understand. 

He just frowned at her. 

"C'mon, Burt," she tried again, her blue eyes pleading. "You've gotten me all into all this gun stuff, so now you've gotta show me what it can do." 

He regarded her a moment more, looking for sincerity. 

"Please...?" 

He shook his head at how easily she could get him to give in to almost anything, but went to the back of his truck and rummaged briefly until he brought out a ten-count box of very large bullets. He pulled the magazine from Betsy and began loading the cartridges from the box into the magazine. After handing one to Kylie, he picked up the massive gun. "This is the Barrett 'Light Fifty' M82A1 .50 caliber hard target interdiction rifle. A very precise weapon, originally designed as a sniper rifle, but it's too heavy to be fired accurately when unsupported. It is primarily used to take out vehicles and planes, hence, 'hard target interdiction'." 

"I'm impressed," Kylie said, examining the nearly six-inch cartridge in her hand. 

"You should be," Burt said smugly. "The Barrett .50 is semi-automatic, 57 inches, 32 and a half pounds, adjustable self-leveling bipod, with a ten round magazine." He took the last cartridge from the box on the table. "There are eight types of ammunition issued for use in the .50 caliber. The tips of the various rounds are color-coded to indicate their type. This is the M2 Armor-piercing round, identified by the blackened tip of the bullet." He held up the one he had to illustrate. 

"You only put in eight." 

He nodded. "Yes. The fully-loaded clip likes to jam sometimes. This cartridge was the standard item of issue for use in all .50 caliber machine guns. It was designed for use against armored aircraft, armored vehicles, concrete shelters, and similar bullet-resisting targets." 

"You can take out a _building_ with this?" 

"I can put a three-inch hole in one," he corrected. "But perfect for Graboids. The average range of the M2 is 7400 meters." 

"Whoa." 

"'Whoa' indeed." 

"Okay, show me what it can do!" Kylie was already putting her earplugs in even as Burt adjusted his own. 

He brought the big gun up to his shoulder and leveled it at the target downrange. He paused a moment to look over at Kylie, who smiled eagerly back at him. He turned his attention back to the rifle's sight and acquired the target, slowed his breathing, and, almost reverently, pulled the trigger. 

_BOOM!_

The rifle roared and the target downrange that Burt had set up exploded in a thousand pieces, sending shrapnel rearward into the surrounding brush, and putting a very large hole in the cliff behind. A column of dirt above the hole slid from the top of the cliff and fell to the ground. 

Kylie jumped up and shrieked in delight, grabbing Burt's shoulder. "That is _so_ cool!" 

Burt gave her a smug grin and Kylie smiled in return. They shared one moment of perfect understanding. 

Then Kylie looked a little worried. "That, um, whole cliff isn't going to come down, is it?" 

"No," he said, sobering himself. "I checked it this morning. It's quite stable." 

She brightened, half reaching for the Barrett .50. "Can I fire it?" 

"No." He unloaded the gun, slipped it into its case, and snapped it shut. 

"Just one time." 

"No." 

"Please? I won't hurt it." 

"No." 

"Aww, Burt. C'mon..." 

They arrived back at Burt's just before sunset and hauled the packs of guns down the stairs. Kylie made a game of putting the guns in their proper places, based on the outlines. Burt supervised and made corrections while cleaning his Eagle and the Barrett. She was right about half the time. 

"You want a beer?" Burt asked when they were done, reaching down into his little refrigerator. 

She regarded him with a puzzled frown. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Beer is for relaxing, Burt," she said. "You don't relax." 

He grimaced wryly, handing her a bottle. "Actually, yes, I do," he retorted. 

"Well, there goes my worldview," Kylie said. "I thought you just, like, plugged in at night and recharged." 

He was back to giving her That Look, so she grinned and took a swig of beer, then turned and looked around the bunker curiously. "This is _such_ an interesting place," she said. 

"You've been here before," he reminded her, following her nervously around the room. 

"Doesn't count," she said. "I wasn't really with it then, and didn't get a chance to be nosy." 

"You don't have to be nosy now," he told her acerbically. 

She stared at him. "You're kidding, right?" She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "Never mind. You never kid." She looked around, peering at the items on his workbench, and lifting up a gun cartridge or hammer. "It was different last time, wasn't it? You moved your furniture!" 

"I sometimes rearrange for maximum efficiency," he explained uncomfortably. 

She looked at all the equipment on the tables, which was still a mystery to her, and moved the computer's mouse when she got to it. The security system screen kicked in and she turned to Burt. "Are there guns trained on me right now?" 

He looked at her strangely. "Of course not." Then his eyes turned thoughtful. 

"Oh no," she said, "I've given you an idea. Note to self: Next time you come here, Burt's computer _will_ be booby-trapped, so don't touch it." 

"A wise decision," he said, and she grinned. 

She continued around the room until she got to his small shelf of books and videos. World War II, mostly, as Nancy said. "Not a porn tape or novel in the bunch. Not even a car magazine. And you call yourself a guy." She shook her head. "This is a really dreary place, Burt. Needs some color. Maybe a plant." 

"I like it the way it is," he said emphatically. 

"Suit yourself," she said lightly, but she kept looking around speculatively. 

He knew she was up to something and dreaded getting into the same arguments with her he always did with Nancy. He suspected she'd be a little more difficult to ignore. His watch beeped then and she looked at him inquiringly. "Sunset," he announced. 

"Let's go watch," she said, heading for the stairs. He didn't follow, so she came back, took him by the hand, and dragged him after her. 

He scowled at her but didn't resist too much. 

"I've always liked watching sunsets," Kylie said. "There's something triumphant in having lived through another day. Especially here in the Valley." 

"Can't disagree with you there." He took another swig of his beer. 

"So what's on your busy agenda tomorrow, Burt?" Kylie asked. 

"I installed a new Shrieker defense system that needs testing," he said. "It's nothing much." 

"Your own design?" Kylie asked with a grin. 

He nodded. "Government surplus parts, mostly. A few salvaged pieces." 

"Sounds interesting," she said, watching him closely. 

He shrugged then shot her a glance and took another pull at his beer. "You can come along," he said hesitantly, "if you want. It's not--" 

"I'd love to," she replied promptly, surprising him. 

"It... should take most of the day," he warned her. 

The corners of her mouth started to curl up. "I'll bring my backpack." 

"0700 hours?" 

"How about 7:03?" 

He nodded. "Don't be late." 

"Oh, Burt? Just one thing..." 

"What's that?" he asked, guarded. 

"You aren't going to shoot me again, are you?" 

He looked away. "Depends on how you conduct yourself." 

She grinned. "I'll be on my best behavior." 

"See that you are," he said as the sun disappeared behind the mountains, and gave in to a reluctant grin of his own. 

END


End file.
